


my words can't hold

by actualflower



Series: fireteam: cormorant [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, amadeus is not equipped to handle that, harry mahmoud is not a nice person, ikora tries her best, neurodivergence, various examples of assholery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19755658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualflower/pseuds/actualflower
Summary: Amadeus is a Hidden, who survived the Red War by hiding and waiting and hoping.Amadeus is a coward—but he isalive. He survived.Enter one Harry Mahmoud, who didn't.A week-long patrol on Titan, and messy histories abound.





	1. walking in straight lines

**Author's Note:**

> title from higgs/rushes to by frank ocean.

Amadeus survives the Red War.

_Survives,_ of course, being the operative word. Amadeus hid and ran. Amadeus reported back to Ikora when she asked, because he is one of her Hidden and he takes his role seriously, but he - he ran. Amadeus survived because he hid and did not fight and spied and did nothing but.

He goes to Ikora when the Tower is rebuilt - he got his Light back, like all the others, like all the Guardians who stayed alive and fought and did not hide.

Ikora is calibrating the odd little device that serves as a remote way to measure and track the Traveler on one of her shelves when he approaches. He waits, hands clasped in front of him, standing stiffly in robes that almost feel too-soft on his skin. There’s armor now, too, unlike he used to wear before the war, thick metal pieces so suffused with Light that they almost glow in his eyes.

Ikora looks over her shoulder casually, smiling as she sees him. “Amadeus— what news do you bring?” she says, because he has never approached her for counsel like this, only with more information. Spy, spying, spied.

“Nothing, sorry,” he says before he can catch himself, the words thick on his tongue, “sorry, I just -”

“Speak easy, Amadeus,” she soothes. “What troubles you?”

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, voice quiet and hidden. “I feel like I’ve failed, or cheated, or…”

Ikora smiles softly, edged with bittersweetness. “You have done nothing I did not ask of you, my hidden. You played a vital part in returning us to this,” she waves a hand to the bazaar around them, “to our home. You did well.”

Amadeus nods. “But why do I still feel like I failed?”

“Because emotions are often not rational, Amadeus.” She returns to the device, calibrating and adjusting, every so often looking up at the healing Traveler. “But we cannot be ruled by them. You are a Dawnblade, are you not?”

“Dawn comes on swift wings,” he recites automatically. Even now, he feels sunlight under his skin.

“Then you already know the answer you seek. But—”

She rifles through the nearby papers, peeling one from the stack with graceful fingers. “I have a project for you, if you will take it. I would have offered it next time I called for you.” She holds it out to him, a silent question.

Amadeus takes the paper. On it is a picture of a human man, smiling and laughing - the picture is in black and white, grainy, and he is looking past the camera and at the photographer. It’s a candid photo. Nothing seems posed - the way his hand is extended to the left, to a figure half in frame, the smudges of something like dirt on tanned skin, the thin lines of the tattoo like a compass on his face, two rays of a triangle bisecting his eyes and drawing attention. His jaw is strong, and his eyes are bright, even in the black and white. He is attractive, Amadeus dimly notes.

He reads the paper. _Ari ‘Harry’ Mahmoud. Human warlock. Age: Unknown._ He stops at that. Most guardians are availed of their rising date - for this one to not know, he must be old indeed. _Status:_ ~~_Deceased_ ~~ _Alive._

He looks up at Ikora. “What is this?”

“A special case.” Her voice is patient. “He died in the initial assault on the Tower. Recently, he was found, confused but alive, in the wreckage of the building where he died.” Her voice takes a lower, more somber tone. “He remembers nothing of his life. Nothing. It is as if he was never risen before this.”

Amadeus looks at the picture again. The rest of the page is littered with scant details - _former association with Fireteam: Cormorant, other guardians [see: Javs Ivel, Titan; Elias Curio, Hunter], unknown current affiliation - one of the oldest risen, he was present at - referenced association with Warlords, no validation of claims thus far -_

His eyes scan the page whip-fast. “What do you need me to do?”

Ikora grins. There’s something dangerous there, a pleased cat-like smile. “I want you to teach him how to be a guardian, Amadeus.”

Amadeus is frozen. His hand clenches on the paper, wrinkling the image of Harry’s smiling face. “Ikora, I—”

“You are the only one I would trust with this,” she says, and Amadeus only nods.

“I’ll - try my best, ma’am.”

Amadeus makes a swift tactical retreat, paper still gripped in his hands. He folds it in careful thirds, then in half, tucking it in his pocket. Failure feels thick on his tongue, still. His Ghost appears, a little blue ball of anxiety he’s taken to calling Cody for lack of any better name.

“Are you finally joining a fireteam? Thank the Traveler - you know, I’ve been worrying about your safety since I met you, and you’ve only been making me worry _more-_ ”

“Thanks, Cody,” he interrupts, making the little Ghost sputter, “but we need to find him. Ikora says - we have to train him, I guess.”

“Ari Mahmoud - goes by Harry - was a former Hidden and one of the oldest guardians on record. Mentioned affiliation with Warlords, but nothing confirmed beyond anecdotal evidence. An incredibly proficient Sunsinger - do you think his solar abilities morphed like ours-?”

“ _Thanks,_ Cody.” Another Hidden, then. He keeps walking toward the elevators that will take him from the reconstructed Tower to the City itself. “But where’s he _now?_ ”

“Try the bars. He liked to frequent those before, with his trio. See, he was smart: he found himself _friends,_ rather than trying to tough it out alone and afraid-”

“Subspace,” Amadeus near growls, and Cody yips.

The Ghost flares his finials in anger once, but complies with a shouted “Fine!”

Amadeus looks around himself, at the empty hallway around him, and sighs. He has a warlock to find.

* * *

Harry is three drinks deep when Amadeus finds him.   


Not that guardian constitution is anything to scoff at, mind you - guardians tend to run a little hotter, a little faster, than your average civilian, and thus, require more alcohol to get properly smashed - but that just means guardians themselves have developed increasingly creative (and potent) means of getting drunk; one of which Harry holds in his hands as Amadeus sees him in the flesh for the first time.

His picture did him no justice. The effect is much more striking in person.

Amadeus loses his words as he stares unabashed. Tanned skin, bright gold eyes, brilliantly white teeth that flash every time he smiles - Amadeus feels a blush start to rise in his cheeks and quashes it ruthlessly. He is a professional. He is one of Ikora’s  _ chosen. _   


He is hopelessly lost.

Harry spots him watching, quirks an eyebrow. He feels suddenly like a rabbit under eye of a wolf. When Harry cocks his head towards the empty seat next to him, Amadeus feels ice in his gut. Still, he makes his way through the throng of people in the little bar, nearly full despite the early afternoon, and eases onto the stool next to the warlock.

“Hello,” he says, louder than he means to, and winces.

Harry gives him a brilliant smile. “You looked lost - what’s your name? You a warlock?”

He nods. Harry looks over his shoulder, mouths something that Amadeus doesn’t catch; he must be speaking to the bartender. When his attention refocuses on him, Amadeus struggles to speak. “Amadeus - my Ghost is Cody. And yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m a warlock.”

“Amadeus,” he says, like he’s tasting his name, and Amadeus realizes that he never should have stepped into this bar, never should have listened to Ikora, never should have touched that paper in the first place -

“I’m Harry,” he says, and there’s an elbow knocking into his own. “Don’t be so nervous. Can feel you jittering from over here.” Something slides across the bar to him, and the young man behind the counter gives Harry a nod and walks back over to the other side where someone’s already calling his name. “Drink? I think you’ll like it.”

He takes a look - it’s bright yellow, vibrant and near-humming in his hands. “What’s in it?”

Harry just winks. Amadeus sighs. “I don’t drink.”

Harry pouts, but swipes the drink from him anyway. “Damn. Everyone’s more fun when they’re drunk.” He sips from the yellow liquid, smiles at the taste. It lingers on his lips, and Amadeus finds himself drawn to the way it practically glows against his bottom lip before it’s licked away. “Especially me. Why’d you come looking for me, anyway?”

Amadeus frowns. “I didn’t -”

“You walked in the bar like you hate the place. You’ve never been here before - there’s a good chance you don’t go to bars at all, especially since, and I quote, you ‘don’t drink’,” he rattles off, not pausing for breath, “you looked at the crowd for three minutes without stopping, and always kept your back to a wall, half your attention on the door - between your unease and your attention, you were either looking for someone to find or stay away from, and needed to keep an eye on the escape route.” He takes another sip. Amadeus feels the itch in his legs to run. “When you finally found me, you relaxed more than I’d seen you relax since you stepped in, and then tensed up all over again when I saw you, too - or at least, when you realized I was looking.” He looks at Amadeus, something scathing in his tone when he speaks again. “If you’re one of the Hidden that Ikora keeps telling me about, you’re doing a shitty job at being covert.”

Solar light glows in the air around him. Amadeus feels a blush start on his cheeks, embarrassment winning over self-control. He needs to leave, and leave  _ immediately. _ “I’m sorry for bothering you,” he says. He shoves his way out of the seat and away from judgmental eyes, ignoring the hastily yelled “shit, wait, sorry-” that trails after him.

A block out, he steps into an alley and rests against a building, breathing hard and desperately trying not to cry. Sunlight crackles and snaps, and Cody appears over his shoulder. For once, the Ghost is silent - Amadeus holds out his hand, and Cody presses into it. The pressure is grounding, a point of focus that lets Amadeus whine in relief and ignore the rest of the world. He breathes, a steady rhythm of  _ inhale hold hold exhale _ that relaxes him. The static in his head gradually slows to a trickle, and Cody bobs up from his hand.

“He was very rude,” Cody says, Amadeus nods. “Would you like to go back to the Tower?” Amadeus nods again.

The Ghost floats ahead of him, and Amadeus follows mutely, head down.

He walks into the Tower numb and silent, ignoring everything around him. When he gets to the single room that is his own in the tower, he shuts the lights off, closes the blinds, and sits on his bed in silence. Cody presses against his shoulder.

He shouldn’t have listened to Ikora.


	2. to live by choice

He shouldn’t have listened to Ikora.

The next morning, he gets up to a missive from her delivered by Cody requesting his presence in the bazaar. He begrudgingly showers, dresses, and walks through the barracks to get to the Tower proper, finally stopping at the stairs preceding her little studying nook.

Where both Ikora and Harry stand, locked in heated conversation.

He shouldn’t have listened to Ikora.

Amadeus stands frozen at the top of the stairs, locked between the impulse to flee and the implicit command to remain until spoken to by Ikora. His brain stalls as he begs his limbs to move, forward, away,  _ anything _ .

Ikora notices him first, and the vicious disapproval on her face softens immediately to regret. She begins to call out, but closes her mouth. Dimly, he can hear her say to Harry, “Do not move, warlock.”

She walks towards him slowly. He can see, in his periphery, how the people around him stop and stare at the spectacle he makes of himself. He knows, he  _ knows _ , and he  _ can’t stop _ .

“Speak easy, Amadeus.” Ikora’s voice is a lifeline, and she holds out a hand to him. “May I take your hand?”

He nods, thankful for the yes or no question. She takes his hand in her own, gently leading him forward. “Do we need to leave the bazaar?”

He thinks. Shakes his head. No, he can handle this. He just - needs a minute.

“Do you want to wait for a moment?”

He swears she can read his mind. He nods. They stand there, clear in the middle of the square; Ikora’s presence seems to have broken the spell, and people politely avert their gazes. After a moment, Amadeus nods at her without meeting her eyes.

“Alright, Amadeus.” She leads him forward by the hand like a child, and shame burns in the pit of his stomach. If he could just  _ relax- _

She squeezes his hand, bringing him back to the present. “Amadeus. Speak easy.”

The pressure rises from his lungs at the gentle command, and he nods. He can do this. Nothing bad will happen.  


Harry looks - contrite might be the best word for it, Amadeus thinks. Yes. Contrite. Scolded. It makes the shame ease in his stomach just a little.  


“Harry.” Ikora’s voice is knife-sharp, quiet and all the more cutting for its plain disappointment. “Is there anything you would like to say?”

“Sorry for being a complete and utter ass, Amadeus - I speak before I think, and should probably cut back on the booze.” With a glare from Ikora, he coughs. “Yep, definitely should cut back on the booze. Don’t, uh, take it too personal. From what she tells me, I was a Hidden, too. Sharp eyes and sarcasm don’t mix well, apparently."

Amadeus shifts uneasily. “You’re fine,” he says, voice hoarse from disuse. He swallows, and his mouth is dry. “You’re fine,” he repeats.

Ikora frowns in concern at him, but Amadeus shakes his head. He knows he’s sensitive. Needs different handling, different care. It’s - biting, but he knows and works and does what he needs to. He is one of Ikora’s  _ best _ Hidden. There is good reason for that.

An echo of Harry’s scathing comment murmurs in his head, and he shakes his head to clear it.

“That it, Ikora? Because I’ve got patrols I need to do and-”

“Not quite, Ari,” she says, and he freezes in place. Amadeus looks up at her, finally meeting her eyes with a question in her own. “Amadeus will be your partner.”

Amadeus locks. Partner? He looks at Ikora. That can’t be right. He didn’t even  _ do _ anything; he hid and ran and gathered and hid again -

Ikora stares back at him with patience and care in her eyes. “Do not worry, Amadeus. I trust you in this, as with all things I entrust to you. You are one of my best,” she says, kind and gentle, and Amadeus can do naught but nod.

Harry sputters. “Are you kidding me? I don’t need a partner. If you want me to be one of your damn protegés, fine, but-”

“Not another word, Ari. You’ve obviously shown yourself for a lack of tact and grace.” She turns away from them both, back towards the City below and her shelves of books. “The two of you will be helpful influences on each other. Besides, it’s standard protocol for newly risen to be accompanied by a more experienced guardian.”

“I’m not newly risen!”

“And yet, you remember nothing.” Ikora’s voice is sharp. “You know nothing of how the world works. You have contented yourself with taking dangerous risks with your own safety and spurring the friendly overtures of other guardians with a disgraceful attitude.” She sighs, turning back to them both. “We have a duty to this city, Ari. We are sworn to protect it - and we cannot do that without each other.”

Amadeus swallows. “Ma’am.” He opens his mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out.

She smiles, motherly and kind. “You can do this, Amadeus. He is not nearly as sharp as he seems.” Harry grumbles something unintelligible at him, but a glare from Ikora silences it quickly. “I’ll send you two on a week-long patrol of Titan - Sloane will be your primary contact. If you really cannot work together, I’ll have you both reassigned. Is that acceptable?”

Amadeus watches Harry. After a long moment and a sigh, he nods sullenly. Amadeus nods quickly after.

“Good. I’ll see you both in a week, warlocks.”

When they both turn to walk away, Harry grabs for Amadeus’ wrist. He snatches it away like he’s been burned, and Harry looks at him strangely. “Listen, I really did want to apologize for what I said-”

“Hangar bay. Ten minutes. Please be on time,” he recites, as if practiced, and flees from the disappointed look on Harry’s face.  


* * *

Amadeus is at the hanger bay after exactly ten minutes have passed. He’s surprised to see Harry there as well - he’d fully expected to be left waiting for at least ten minutes longer. Harry is speaking in low tones to his Ghost as Amadeus approaches - a blue shell with long spines, painted with a simple white lotus on the front. It disappears as Amadeus grows closer with a wave of Harry’s hand.

“Juniper,” Harry says by way of explanation, and shrugs. “Doesn’t talk to anyone but me. She’s weird like that. Your ship or mine?”

Amadeus frowns, thinking of Harry inside his ship - he’d mess it up. He has everything organized perfectly. “Yours, please.”

Harry shrugs. “Alright, that’s that, then.” He looks around for another moment, rocking back on his heels. “So. About all - that, then.”

Amadeus cringes. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Why does Harry?

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. The tone is far different from the apology instigated by Ikora; this one is low, genuinely apologetic. “Shouldn’t have been an ass. I’m apparently, ah, a ‘difficult personality’.” He shrugs. “Feel free to, you know, smack me if I’m being difficult. You wouldn’t be the first to act on that impulse.” He grins, as if making people angry is an achievement rather than rude.

Amadeus just nods. He pulls his helmet on, checking the seals, and nods again, waiting.

“Alright. Settled then, I guess. To the ship we go.” His voice is awkward, speaking for the sake of noise, lilting obviously uncomfortable. Amadeus doesn’t mind silence, doesn’t mind not speaking, but Harry? Amadeus is unsurprised he is of a Solar mind. He was apparently a Sunsinger before his second resurrection. Guardians that gravitate toward sunlight tend to be a little more outgoing.

Usually. Unless you’re Amadeus, of course.

Harry’s ship is just like Harry himself: loud. Twin engines and a sleek body all painted in the most vibrant blue and pink Amadeus has ever seen. As the bay door lowers, Harry turns around to wave his hands and wiggle his fingers at Amadeus. “Ta-da! My mobile home sweet home. Had her for a week now. Isn’t she pretty?”

“Why do people automatically assign she/her pronouns to inanimate objects, like cars, or ships, or sparrows?” Amadeus asks, mostly to see if Harry will answer.

“Pre-Golden Age, a lot of ships were named after goddesses, or men’s wives - assuming, of course, the captains were male, because there was a lot of gendered nonsense happening pre-Golden Age, and a good ways into it, too - and, later, important women, more than likely to bestow some sort of benevolent feminine spirit in the ship and ask it for protection. The practice became habit regardless, and extended to more than just naval ships.” Harry rattles off the information with easy familiarity, and Amadeus’ eyes widen behind his helmet.

“Oh.” The sound escapes him before he can stop it, and Harry grins.

“Mmm. When I said I don’t remember  _ anything _ …” He pats one of the supports fondly. “Might’ve been a lie. Remember quite a lot, actually.”

“Ikora said -”

“I know what she said, and what I told her.” Harry frowns. “But I don’t want to go back to my old fireteam. I don’t - remember them.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair and beginning to walk up the short ramp and into the ship. “Just facts. Places. Sometimes a name or two. Nothing personal, of course.” He laughs, but it’s not cheerful, just bitter and jagged. “Too kind to give it all back, right, you moon-sized bastard?”

He’s talking to the Traveler, Amadeus realizes, just as he disappears into the ship. He walks on board behind him, boots clanking on hard metal. “Are you okay, Harry?”

“Not at all,” he says cheerfully. He weaves through the short hallway to the pilot’s seat before swivelling around. “Bedroom’s on your left. No storage bay. It was either that or no bedroom at all, so. Decided to make it positively cozy on here. Feel free to snoop!”

“I would not do so,” Amadeus says, a little offended.

“Damn shame, because I would. We got a few hours ‘till we get there with this warp drive. Take a nap, do whatever. I’ll be in the pilot’s seat.”

He presses a button on his side - a door slides shut between them, and Amadeus can hear the ramp rising to close them in. He turns to the innocuous door to his left. Well, no time like the present.

He taps the access panel, and the door slides away to reveal an utter  _ mess. _   


Somehow, Amadeus is entirely unsurprised.

* * *

Amadeus spends all three of the hours of the trip cleaning. It’s soothing in the repetition - fold this, hang that, pile these for cleaning, arrange this, strip the bed, remake it. By the time he’s done, it looks like a brand new room.

He doesn’t realize the door is open until he turns around and nearly falls onto the newly-made bed, startled. Harry leans against the door, grinning. Amadeus is struck silent by it once again. He’s incredibly thankful he still has his helmet on.

“Huh. Didn’t think you’d  _ clean _ while you snooped, but hey! Pleasant surprises all around!” Harry steps into the room, making Amadeus take a reflexive step back - his knees hit the back of the bed, making him actually fall.

Just before he does, Harry’s arm shoots out lightning fast, catching his arm and keeping him standing. As soon as he feels Amadeus is stable, the hand retreats as fast as it appeared.

Amadeus still feels it on his arm, even though Harry looks unaffected. “We’re about five minutes out, by the way, so. You know. Get ready, and all that.” He nods, and Harry goes back to the pilot’s chair.  


Amadeus rubs his arm where the warmth lingers, even through the thick, soft cloth of his warlock robes. He sits down on the bed, checks his pulse rifle, and waits.


	3. keeping us self-contained and aware

Titan is rainy and wet. He’s lucky his helmet has air filters - he doesn’t know how Sloane can stand it, breathing in the constant smell of methane and ethane and being exposed to the bitter cold. Sure, golden-age terraforming did a lot, but only so much can be done.

Amadeus avails himself of Sloane’s countenance, learns what needs to be done - there’s a large Hive presence, which he already knew, and a large Fallen presence, which he also already knew, and both need to be routed out regularly, which he assumed. Sloane gives him the locations of all the relevant beacons and sends him on his way with a “Good luck, soldier.”

Harry waits for him at the drop-off, only standing when he arrives. Juniper flashes a single-optic look at him before disappearing again. “I keep telling her that you’re fine,” he says as he stands, “but she just won’t listen. Her shyness is endearing, but annoying.”

“We’re not going to be a permanent fireteam, so it’s unnecessary that I know her. As long as I know her frequency for emergencies, we’ll be fine.”

Harry gives him an odd look at that - he has his helmet off, too. Amadeus shakes his head. “I have a list of what needs to be done. I figure we can start on it and see what happens while we’re here. We have a week.”

Harry sighs, puts on his helmet. “Alright then. What’s up first?”

* * *

They stop a hive ritual, destroy a Fallen walker, and collect stolen goods on the first day. By the end of it, they’re exhausted already. Cody has been working overtime to keep Amadeus upright.

They end up clearing out a room of computer servers to set up for the night - Amadeus pulls dry ration bars out of his subspace, and Harry looks personally offended when he begins eating them.

“What?” Amadeus scowls. He’s tired, and irritable, and doesn’t want to deal with Harry’s judgement right now. He’s already dealing with the biting cold at his ears and nose - and the  _ smell, _ by the Traveler, Titan is  _ miserable. _

“I don’t understand how you can stomach those. They’re so…” He shivers, disgust evident. He’s pulled something wrapped in foil out of his own subspace, Juniper delivering it obediently into his hands before disappearing without a word. It’s some pastry, glistening with sugar on the crust, a half-pie pressed at the corners. He bites into it with relish. A smear of red-pink glaze is left on the corner of his lips when he finishes the bite, and Amadeus wants to wipe it off - Harry’s just so  _ messy. _

“I figure,” he says, punctuating his sentences with bites, “if we’re going to eat - without having to - it should at least be pleasant.”

“We still need to eat,” Amadeus explains, but Harry tutts.

“Wrong! The Light is entirely sufficient to sustain us on a base level. If we didn’t want to fight anymore, we could live forever on Light alone - weakened, sure, but we’d basically be at a civilian-level of competence in the Light at that point, so it wouldn’t be that terrible.” He finishes the pie, starting on licking his fingers clean. “If we want to continue to be guardians, however-”

He grins, teeth half-stained pink with little seeds stuck in his teeth. “We need to eat.” There’s still that smudge of pink filling on his lips.

Amadeus sighs. The ration bars are nearly the only thing he can stomach anymore - everything else upsets his stomach when he’s revived, or has the wrong texture, or smells strange in a way he can’t explain. He knows he’s picky. He works around it.

He survives.

He finishes his bland ration bar quietly. Harry pulls out a second little pie, this one filled with something blue and sweet-smelling. They both pull their sleeping bags out of their subspaces, laying them parallel to each other. Harry fluffs up a pillow from his subspace, pulling off his boots and changing his socks before settling inside it.   


There’s still that little spot of filling on his lip, and before Amadeus realizes, he’s reaching out towards Harry to wipe it away. His thumb is gentle on Harry’s skin; there’s no gauntlet in the way to block the warmth from seeping into Amadeus’ nearly numb fingers. Harry freezes where he lays, eyes darting over to Amadeus. Amadeus just swipes the thumb across the corner of Harry’s lips, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes the raspberry-pink glaze from his thumb, and turns back to his own sleeping bag, ignoring the surprised expression on Harry’s face.

“Goodnight, Harry,” he says, pushing past the thick feeling in his throat.

Harry doesn't respond, and Amadeus shoves himself into his sleeping bag, zipping it up tight and turning away from his confusing, infuriating partner.

Just as he's falling asleep, he catches the sound of Harry whispering something that's almost unintelligible.

“Goodnight, Amadeus.”

* * *

Day two starts with them being ambushed by Hive in their server room.

Amadeus is startled awake by the rhythmic  _ ta-ta-tat  _ of a pulse rifle, mixed with shouts and yells that sound startlingly close and far away all at once. Cody is a buzzing presence in his head and his face. “Get  _ up _ , Amadeus, please,  _ please _ —”

He finds a sidearm in his hands before he can think to ask, and Cody disappears into subspace while he rolls toward the nearest server bank, peeking over the top with his heart in his throat. The gun is cold in his hands without his gauntlets.

Harry is at the door, helmet off and staring down the sights of his rifle while Juniper is poised over his shoulder, staring in the opposite direction. At some unseen cue, they swap sides of the hallway, smooth as oiled machinery. Juniper’s fins flare as she catches sight of Amadeus, and Harry doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Could use some help, Deo!”

_ It’s Amadeus _ , he wants to say, but it dies on his tongue while he slides over the top of the server bank and shoots the window next to the door once. The glass shatters to the ground, and he aims through it, placing three bullets into the forehead of an Acolyte before they have time to react. The roll ends with him almost back-to-back with Harry, and closes his eyes to focus before throwing a Rift around their feet.

“Good thinking!” Harry yells, and he whoops in glee as he shoots the feet out from under a Knight, watching it topple into nothing. 

Amadeus says nothing. With a thought, his helmet is placed in his empty hand, and he shoves it onto his head. Targets light up like festival lanterns on his HUD.

“Fourteen left, twelve right,” he calls out. As long as he can keep the Rift up, he’ll know where they  _ all _ are — but fatigue is already clawing at his knees, and his Light can hold up only so long. “Twenty-plus below us.”

“How the  _ hell _ do you know that?”

“Rift,” he says, as if that’s all the explanation he needs, and shoots another Acolyte in two of its eyes, firing a third round into its chest.   


He feels a bolt clip his shoulder and make him stumble back. Harry is there, pressing his own back against him and keeping him upright, but it’s enough to tap his Rift. He uses the last of its Light to force his shoulder back into place—

They both freeze at the scream that rings through the halls, watching as the Hive around them echo it in eerie unison before scattering around them, seeking safety in the lower halls. Amadeus’s breath rasps in his ears, magnified by his helmet and the sudden vacuum of noise.

“You don’t think…” Harry starts, and then Juniper appears over his shoulder. Amadeus hears his whispered half of the conversation: “Yeah, sure. Do you really think so? ...Come on, Juniper. That could have been  _ anything _ . … Hey now, that’s no reason to be rude; what do you mean I’m ignoring—oh, yeah.” He looks at Amadeus, as if only just now noticing he’s there. “Junie thinks it’s a wizard. I think it’s an ogre. Wanna bet on it?”

Juniper disappears before she can defend herself. Amadeus is not surprised. “I don’t want to bet. We need to clear it out.”

Harry sighs, pout on his face, rolling his eyes. “Take all the fun out of it, you do.” He looks at their sleeping bags, and Juniper appears in a flash, scanning and shoving Harry’s in his subspace, and disappears just as fast. Amadeus directs Cody to do the same, albeit a little more neatly.

Amadeus hears the screech again, accompanied by a roar that shakes the ground underneath them. In his periphery, he can see Harry grin. He still doesn’t have a helmet on.

Before he can think about it, he pulls a helmet out of his subspace and shoves it at Harry. “Come on. We have to go.” He turns and walks toward the stairs, sidearm in his hands, before he can catch whatever terrible look Harry’s decided to give him now.


	4. sparks of lightning storm behind wet faces

It’s a Wizard  _ and _ an Ogre. And a few Shriekers. And a host of Knights and Acolytes and Thrall that seem to be pouring from the walls themselves, or materializing just as Amadeus is reloading, or—

“Left!” he hears Harry yell from across the room, and spins just in time to clock an Acolyte in the jaw with fire in his fingertips. He shoves another clip in his sidearm and fires a round into its forehead to make sure it stays down, and looks back across the room. Harry’s dancing from cover to cover, popping his head above boxes and relays to fire in seemingly random patterns between the Ogre and the Wizard sporadically. At least he’s keeping their attentions.   


Amadeus summons his sniper rifle into his hands, focusing in on the shriekers, and nearly dropping to the floor as both of them turn their eyes to him. The shipping container he’s hiding in dents from the force of their combined fire, and he can feel the heat of it beginning to melt. He has to move. He has to do  _ something _ .

He rolls out of the container, just barely keeping ahead of their blasts as he sprints to the next-closest cover: a chunk of concrete ceiling fallen to the floor. He feels the heat of it sear into his back, feels the heat of his breath on his face inside his helmet—

_ Come on, Amadeus _ , he hears Cody say.  _ You got this. _

—feels heat  _ everywhere. _

He feels the rifle nearly melt as he drops it, imagining a sword in its place—and then there is. He lunges forward, towards the Shrieker on the right, even as his free hand throws a grenade at the one to the left. The sword melts through its protective carapace, heralding a scream of pain from the purple eye before its shell falls empty to the ground, decimated.   


Amadeus whips around to face the other Shrieker, and feels a volley of blasts hit his chest just as he swings the sword in his hand to return the favor in a wave of flame. He keeps swinging through the pain, watching spiderweb cracks begin to appear in his vision, refusing to stop until he watches the other empty shell fall to the ground, too.

He can feel the ribs crack in his chest under the pressure even as the blasts chill him to the core and sap the strength from his bones, leeching him of Light. Daybreak fades. He falls to the ground and lands hard on his knees. Cody urges him towards cover, a half-destroyed computer bank.

All of a sudden, the air around him becomes thick with poison, seeping into his helmet’s filters and staining his vision black. Resounding in his ears is the Wizard’s cackle, making him clutch at the sides of his head and curl away from it. Amadeus can feel his teeth rattle in his mouth. Out of the darkness like a nightmare, he sees the curling claw of the Wizard reach down towards him. Panicking, he reaches for his Rift, but it won’t  _ come _ to him, his Light is too drained, he’s pushed himself too far—

_ I’m going to die, _ he thinks, and can’t summon the scream in his chest to his throat.

Dimly, he hears someone say, “Oh,  _ fuck _ this,” and then his world goes white.

The Wizard screeches as a concentrated blast of white Arc launches into its chest and doesn’t  _ stop _ , pushing it further and further away from Amadeus as it screams in pain and fury, scrabbling at the wall behind it for some purchase away from the beam burning a hole into its chest. It launches another wave of purple projectiles, but the beam doesn’t let up; it just keeps burning brighter and brighter, making Amadeus turn his head away and close his eyes. The memory of it burns his eyes.

Eventually, the screaming stops. The room falls quiet save Amadeus’s own panting breaths inside his helmet and the thunderous beating of his own heart in his ears. He cautiously opens his own eyes.

The beam is gone, and so is the Wizard. Instead, there’s the burned shadow of it in the wall where it last was. He looks around, catching sight of Harry a handful of steps away, wearing the helmet Amadeus shoved in his hands.   


Harry limps toward him, shaking his empty hands as if to clear water from them; instead, sparks of Arc sizzle off his gauntlets and onto the floor, grounding themselves in the metal. Amadeus shoves himself upright but stays on the ground. He doesn’t think he could get his legs to work right now, anyway.

Harry comes to a stop next to him, flopping to the ground. Juniper floats placidly at his shoulder, passively scanning him. She doesn’t acknowledge Amadeus at all.

Amadeus keeps Cody subspaced. It’s safer that way.

They don’t speak to each other for a long moment, both of them catching their breath, feeling their Light begin to repair the damage to their bodies. Then:

“You were a  _ Sunsinger _ ,” Amadeus says, almost accusatory.

Harry waves his hand airily. “Forgot to update my file.” Amadeus can hear the smug grin on his face. “Whoops.”

Amadeus frowns. Tears collect at the corners of his eyes, and he is thankful for his helmet. “You are a  _ Stormcaller. _ ”   


“I don’t see why you’re concerned.” Harry pulls his pulse rifle from his back, careful nonchalance in every movement. He checks the chamber, pulls the magazine free, reloads.

Amadeus feels his throat tighten. “That’s important information, Harry.”

Harry’s hands still. “It’s a preference. It doesn’t matter.”

“It  _ matters _ ,” Amadeus says, something pained and weak in his voice that he wants to throttle. “You have to—to tell me these things.” Unwanted memories surge behind his eyes, and he ruthlessly, quietly, shunts each one to the back of his mind.

Harry pulls his own helmet off, glaring at Amadeus. “Why the fuck does it matter, huh?” He tosses the helmet into the other Warlock’s lap, uncaring. “What’s got your ass in such a fucking  _ twist _ about  _ this _ , of all fucking things?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Amadeus asks, voice quiet. “I can’t—”

“Why should I  _ fucking have to?! _ ” he shouts. “I’ve spent the last  _ three fucking months _ telling everyone  _ everything _ I can to keep them off my fucking back because hey, Harry’s back! Except he’s fucking  _ not _ , and everyone wants to walk on eggshells because I don’t remember shit!  _ No! _ ” He turns to his Ghost, who floats at his shoulder sedately. _ “ _ I  _ won’t _ stop yelling, Juniper!”

Amadeus flinches at every word leveled his way, curling further and further away from Harry until his knees are drawn up to his chest. Harry continues, golden eyes leveled at Amadeus once more. “I get a broken fucking mentor I  _ don’t need. _ My Light doesn’t even fucking  _ work _ right. Of course I’m going to be a  _ Stormcaller! _ I’m  _ pissed! _ I can’t touch the sun anymore, I—!”

He snaps his mouth shut at the last, turning away from Amadeus and Juniper both, and stalks away toward the stairs. Amadeus doesn’t move, listening to his steps clank on the metal stairs until he can’t hear them anymore. Juniper still floats in the air, unmoving.

Amadeus stares at the lotus-painted Ghost for another long moment until she, too, begins to float after Harry, not once casting a glance toward Amadeus.

Once she’s out of sight, Amadeus feels the tears roll down his cheeks. He’s been crying for a while, he realizes. Cody flashes into his palm, pressing down.

“It’s alright,” Cody says to him, and Amadeus doesn’t believe it for a second.

* * *

Amadeus catalogs the area after a while, noting everything of importance: numbers, strength, location, distance from areas of significance. Cody files it away like always, though Amadeus won't forget.

He steps back up to their resting place slowly, eyes straight forward. Out of his periphery, he can't tell that anyone was there at all.

It is as it should be. Placid, undisturbed. Not burning like sunfire.

_ Why _ did it bother him so much?

“You have problems with that kind of stuff, Amadeus,” Cody snips at him, bobbing along next to his shoulder. “It's alright.”

“It's  _ not _ ,” he retorts, something childish and petulant in his mood. He should be able to  _ handle _ this, it was just an affinity, why is he so  _ bothered _ \--   


“He's not like you, Amadeus,” Cody says, pressing onto his shoulder. “It's okay. No one's like you. It's not bad.”

Amadeus presses his lips thin. How could it  _ not _ be? There isn't a single fireteam that's kept him on longer than a mission. Ikora  _ trusted _ him with Harry. Even with all the obvious character flaws, he'd  _ thought _ \-- he'd  _ hoped _ \--   


Cody presses harder into his shoulder, grounding him with contact. “The Traveler fixes you when he brings you back. He would've fixed you, but you aren't broken.”

“Cody's got something right, at least,” says a voice from the far door, and Amadeus whips around, eyes wide behind his helmet. Harry leans against the door, helmet off and dangling from his fingertips, poised to slip to the floor. “Definitely unique, Deo.”

“Amadeus,” he corrects instantly. His voice croaks. He hates it. “I don't like nicknames.”

Harry shrugs. “Had to try, at least.” He sighs, looks up at the ceiling, shoulders in a slouch. His head thunks against the doorframe. “Sorry.”

He doesn't elaborate. Amadeus doesn't expect him to, but it still stings. He packages that up neatly in his mind and holds out his hand. Harry raises an eyebrow, but walks forward with his own hand outstretched; the eyebrow raises further when Amadeus pulls away from his hand.

“My helmet,” he deadpans, and Harry laughs like it's the best joke he's ever told. He hands it back, at least.   


“You're  _ something _ , alright,” Harry laughs out, and almost whispers the next. “I almost want to figure out what.”

Amadeus doesn't think he was supposed to hear that, so he ignores it.   


It's a start, at least.


End file.
